A Game Changer
by shortstackedcheesecake
Summary: Eric only sings about love at first sight, he doesn't really believe in it. Until a handsome waiter enters his life. Rated T.


**A/N:** _An idea I've had for a couple of months and finally wrote. Enjoy!_

* * *

Eric loved being the center of attention, and he also loved music.

He loved the drama and feeling of symphonies, the way melodies embraced lyrics, how music could connect the necessary pieces needed to set people alight. Make them dance or cry or scream or laugh. He wanted to be in control of that, to perform and write and entertain.

Eric yearned for the spotlight like a houseplant yearns for the sun. He wished to be magnetic so eyes would be drawn to him, ears would open and hearts would be captured. Undivided attention, to Eric, there wasn't anything sweeter.

Childish tantrums evoked negative attention, but he usually got what he wanted from his worn-down mother. The spotlight wasn't a toy or a piece of candy, however. It was more fulfilling and gratifying. A ball of energy that sits in the gut and warms the heart.

He realised that his need for positive attention (unconditional coddling from his mother didn't count) and his fascination with music could support one another, when he was five years old and had watched a documentary about various rock stars. He didn't fully understand the subject matter, or who these people were, but whilst channel hopping he saw a flash of guitar strings and heard sweet music and he was sold. In this documentary, men with unwashed hair, tight jeans and gleaming guitars performed with captivating finesse and they were met with a screaming audience, cameras fixated with them and people cheering their names.

And all they did was sing and play instruments. Eric could do that.

He signed up for piano lessons straight away, guitar lessons followed two years later and then singing lessons. In between all that, there were family performances on Christmas and Thanksgiving, school concerts and recitals. Ample amounts of attention. Eric thought he would burn but instead he soaked it all up, he was fit for such praise, but his appetite grew bigger, his humble portions no longer enough to sustain him.

When he needed to earn money in high school, he sang at bars and bought beer with his fake ID. He signed up for open mic nights, organised his own little gigs where the audience quickly grew. He thought of getting an agent, but didn't want anybody to interfere with his performances. Besides, he was capable of managing himself and he liked to think he knew how the business worked.

Thanks to his good grades and determination he was able to get into Berklee (receiving that confirmation letter was probably the happiest day of his life), and after he graduated he moved to Los Angeles. Eric had a strategy in place since he was five, and every day it had grown bigger, gained momentum and specifics and was crackling with hope like static friction sidling up to his mind and rationality. Eric cared little for outside factors and sad realities, because he had achieved so much and he would continue to do so.

He hadn't anticipated the competition, the rejection and the cut-throat nature of a pipedream business. It was hard to not trash his piano and throw his guitar out the window in anger, blot out his rejection and newly developed self-doubt with cheap beer, or pack his bags and head back to Colorado in defeat.

But he was determined and stubborn and narrow-minded so he soldiered on. But strength couldn't pay the bills. Performing any chance he could, did.

Which is why he was performing _High and Dry_ for what felt like the hundredth time in two months to the al fresco diners of a café he regularly busked.

Eric would have felt disenfranchised, but that genuine, impressed applause he got at the end of every song (and the coins and dollar bills leaping into the velvet sea of his guitar case) soothed him, a hit of attention.

"Thanks," Eric smiled brightly, always the showman. "So now I'm gonna play _Crash into Me_ by Dave Matthews Band. Hope you enjoy, guys."

Another ripple of applause and an encouraging wolf whistle as he played the opening.

" _You've got your ball, you've got your chain…"_

The strings beneath his fingers and the crowd in his eyes, Eric got lost in the melody and the accompaniment of LA traffic and chattering diners. So far, so simple and ordinary.

Until Eric's gaze landed on the most beautiful guy he had ever seen in real life, a waiter (one he had never seen working before) collecting empty plates. Striking red curls, pale skin not suited to the heat, envious bone structure and a genial smile set off by the Californian sun that seemed to admire and glow only for him.

" _Lost for you, I'm so… Lost for you."_

And the music swelled and the world stopped to point Eric in his direction. A type of first encounter Eric had only seen in the movies and didn't believe in until now; when the shot was perfect and the score was a Dave Matthews Band song that had never sounded sweeter.

This guy… He shouldn't have been in this café, he shouldn't have been in a setting so ordinary for he was too exquisite. Even the way he picked up those plates was enchanting, ethereal. This was probably how artists discovered their muses, at cafes or markets or concerts and then they immortalise them in canvas or Top 40 records.

Before the waiter went back inside, he caught Eric's eye, stood and listened. Eric could have forgotten the lyrics, or his own name.

But Eric had been in similar situations before, sung to guys he wanted to impress (i.e. fuck) and he knew exactly how to play it. He grinned around the lyrics he was singing, but his fingers shook and his heart was sprinting after bittersweet green eyes.

The waiter smiled politely, suddenly remembering the plates he was holding and the work that had to be done, he went back inside.

Eric's gaze trailed after him, and he knew he had to win that man over. For some guys, that would be seen as a challenge. But Eric was charming and he had a guitar, how hard could it be?

* * *

Eric was always good at commanding an audience, whether it was demanding that his relatives listen to him play a tune on the piano or sticking up flyers all over his high school promoting some gig in a humble venue, Eric always made sure he was heard.

And when he had the number of a gorgeous waiter who he couldn't stop thinking about at the end of it? That was just a glorious incentive to really bring his 'A Game'.

On a sunny Friday afternoon, that's exactly what he was doing. Diners were clapping, cheering, singing along as Eric belted out songs with a fresh gleam of enthusiasm and extra charm. He had even attracted some passers-by, squealing college girls and amused tourists, fascinated by the quirkiness of LA.

Another song finished, Eric's throat felt a little raw and his fingertips were pinked, but he took a bow and a sip of water as the crowd applauded.

The waiter had been out a couple of times, rushed off his feet during lunch hour and not really paying any attention to Eric. The day had been slowing down and while the café was still busy, Eric noticed that the waiter had relaxed some. In fact, Eric was betting that he'd have a date made by the end of the day.

As he was tuning his guitar and soaking up sporadic cheers and wolf whistles, the waiter came outside again, fascinating and aloof.

Even though he had just drank some water, Eric's mouth suddenly felt dry again, but he managed to swallow around his tightened throat.

This was the opportune time to make a move! A gesture! Impress him! Eric had always been good at improvisation, he just had to tear his thoughts away from the infuriatingly cute waiter to think…

"You guys have been really great today," Eric commented, sounding a lot cooler than he felt as he fiddled with the strings. A short burst of applause raised his confidence a little. "And to show you how grateful I am, maybe I should give you control of the set list?" Eric shrugged and a louder, more enthusiastic applause followed.

"So any suggestions?" Eric threw the question into the crowd and song titles tripped over each other. He didn't really care, his attention focused on the waiter.

Eric had the line planned in his head, had rehearsed it in his thoughts so when the time came he wouldn't stumble. But he didn't count on courage leaving him, stiffening the cogs of his mind so his words and mouth disconnected.

"Hey, red!" He blurted out, the waiter looked up at him before checking for any redheaded diners. "Yeah, you!" Eric clarified and the waiter looked at him expectantly.

"I'm, uh, taking requests, and since you've been working so hard and providing such good service, would you like me to sing anything in particular?" Eric asked. "What songs do you like?"

"Oh," the waiter replied, the crowd had hushed but turned their attention to the waiter. Clearly, he didn't appreciate the limelight as much as Eric, for his shoulders hunched and he kept glancing at the door. "Thanks, but I'm fine, really."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the waiter made a beeline for the door and Eric's heart screamed at him to do something.

"Are you sure?" Eric called out. "Not even one little song? I know plenty, give me the most obscure song you know and I bet I can sing it."

"That's great, but maybe you should ask somebody else because I'm kind of busy," the waiter replied, shouldering the door open, his hands were loaded with empty plates.

"Come on!" Eric implored, "I like a challenge, red!"

The waiter had finally got the door open, sighing in exasperation he leant against it and fixed his eyes on Eric.

"Sorry, but I'm not in the mood. And I can't hang around and listen to you play because I have a job to do. Maybe next time," The waiter said, before ducking back inside.

Opportunity passed and lost. Until next time that is. Eric may have been persistent, but he was impatient too. And even the most optimistic, determined person can't help but let disappointment gnaw at their setbacks.

But he had a crowd to entertain, and there was money that needed to be thrown into his guitar case.

"Requests?" Eric continued brightly. "Anyone?"

" _Wonderwall!"_ Some guy hanging on to the college girls called out.

Eric sighed, but smiled anyway. " _Wonderwall_ it is…"

* * *

Three days later and Eric realized where he had gone wrong.

Asking the waiter what song he should sing? What was he thinking?! That's not how you serenade somebody! You catch them off guard with lyrics and music that convey meaning more than bumbling sentences ever could. A confession with words that sometimes aren't always your own, but transcend their origin and plant the seeds of something wonderful. Love, a future, a first date.

It scared Eric slightly, how perfect it all seemed. The concept of wooing guys wasn't foreign to him, but wanting to stick around was. He had no idea who this man was, where he came from, and yet he was sure he would adore every detail of his personality and story as much as he loved that dazzling smile and those expressive eyes.

When he wasn't fawning over the beautiful stranger he was deciding what song was best to serenade him with. He didn't want to use the staid, the cloying or the melancholy. He wanted something cool and charming and casual, although he suspected his feelings were the opposite of that. They were breathless and awestruck and Eric feared he would become a speechless wreck when faced with the waiter's company. Or he would try too hard. He had no idea what it was like to be so enamoured, but he was starting to get a pretty good insight.

He finally decided on a cover he had been working on for quite some time anyway, and one he thought would definitely impress the object of his affection and maybe clear the air between them.

The Monday lunch time crowd was hard to please, but Eric was always sure to play bubbly, uplifting songs to ensure that he got good tips.

Even better, whenever Eric sneaked glances of the waiter, he was smiling despite himself, and - Eric imagined - humming along when he went back inside.

 _I'm so going to get his phone number today._

"I'm going to sing something new now," Eric announced, his gaze flickered inconspicuously to the waiter who was – surprisingly – lingering. "It's a little unconventional and I doubt I'll ever do this man justice-"

He paused at some mild laughter and the waiter was smiling curiously at him.

Eric kept his gaze fixed and cool.

"But I've had a really cute guy on my mind for about a week now," Eric continued, the waiter's eyes flashed. "And this song reminds me of him."

Encouraging applause and the waiter looked unsure. Maybe not the best start, but Eric was going to change that.

" _Where did you come from, lady? And, ooh, won't you take me there? Right away, won't you, baby?"_

A victorious smile quirked in the corner of Eric's mouth when he saw the waiter laugh into his hand and duck his head. His flushed face didn't compliment his fiery curls at all, but that's what made him even more adorable. Gorgeously fallible and making Eric laugh already. But he couldn't succumb, he had a Michael Jackson song to sing.

Eric's fingers flew across and pressed at the strings, all the while keeping an eye on the waiter, trying to decipher if he was enjoying his rendition of _P.Y.T_. His smirk gave nothing away as he listened to Eric sing about letting him take him to the max, how nothing could stop Eric's burning desire to be with him, and how he was a pretty young thing who Eric could 'take there'.

That quiet, insecure part of Eric was waiting for the waiter to get bored and leave before he could finish the song, Eric just shut that voice up by hitting the necessary notes.

That little voice and its worries were for naught, as the waiter stayed until the very end, until the very last 'P.Y.T.'

Breathless, and heart pounding from adrenaline and anticipation, Eric soaked up his applause but looked expectantly at the waiter.

Eric's (now damp) brow rose, seeking silent confirmation.

The waiter shook his head apologetically and went back inside.

* * *

"So the Michael Jackson song didn't work, huh?" Wendy, Eric's roommate (and currently only LA friend) asked over Chinese take-out.

"No!" Eric exclaimed. "I don't get it! He stayed until the very end of the song! He laughed and smiled and… Fuck, he's cute."

"You said," Wendy said, unable to break through Eric's fruitless daydreaming of the handsome waiter.

"So fucking cute that I don't know what to do!" Eric despaired. "When I finished, I looked at him and he just shook his head! Then went back inside! What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Wait, you didn't follow him?" Wendy asked, resting her elbows on her crossed legs and arching an eyebrow. "You didn't ask him what he thought or just asked for his number?"

 _I shouldn't need to. Making a gesture like that should be enough, right?_ Eric wasn't sure anymore, this guy was a different, harder to please game.

"Wendy, come on! I'm a singer!" Eric replied. "I shouldn't need to ask for guys' phone numbers!"

Wendy stared Eric down with pale grey eyes, the same unimpressed look she gave him when he didn't do his fair share of the chores.

"So what do you do to win over these guys exactly?" She asked, calm and unassuming but Eric could feel the judgemental venom seeping through. "Sing and make bedroom eyes and they're supposed to give you their number on the back of that?"

Eric shrugged, prodding at his food.

"Do you really think that's how dating works?" Wendy chuckled incredulously.

Eric huffed, on the defensive now. "That's all I've ever known and it's worked for me!"

"Clearly not with this guy," Wendy muttered, continuing to eat.

Eric thought of the waiter's refusal to request a song, yet how he smiled at Eric's music and seemed to enjoy listening to it. He thought of the shake of his head and yet the look on his face that quelled Eric's initial feeling of rejection.

"In a weird way," Eric began, Wendy looked up from her food. "That's what makes him so great. Because he's different and a challenge, and God, I really want to go out with him." Eric whinged that last part, dropping his fork and burying his head in his hands.

"Then talk to him, you dipshit!" Wendy exclaimed, batting Eric's hands away. "You're not in high school anymore and not every guy is going to be won over by you singing a song for them! Talk to this guy and ask for his number and I guarantee he'll say yes!"

Eric blinked. "Really?"

"Yes!" Wendy laughed, rolling her eyes. "He's probably waiting for you to act normal and not like you've stumbled out of a John Hughes movie!"

Eric furrowed his eyebrows, maybe he was acting like a move character but… That was his intention all along, right? Guys in movies always get the one they yearn for, and grand gestures always do the trick. Where was he going wrong? What were they doing that he wasn't?

Maybe romance truly was dead if simple, mundane conversation got you a date these days.

"Eric, I know you think that there's only one way to go about this," Wendy said. "But there's not. You're more likely to get a date with him if you just chill out, rather than try too hard."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive," Wendy smiled. "And if on the off chance he says no… Don't be too disappointed, okay? I'll take you out and try to hook you up with guys who are way cuter."

Eric smiled good-naturedly, he didn't want to put a damper on Wendy's nice suggestion by saying that he doubted there were guys cuter than the waiter, or that hooking up with somebody else would take his mind off him so easily.

But Wendy was right about one thing, he needed to change tact fast if he even stood a chance of getting the waiter to go on a date with him.

"Alright," Eric sighed. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try it your way."

* * *

Eric stayed at the café until the very last coffee mug was collected, looking for the right time to finally converse with the waiter. Eric had seen him throughout the day, serving food and drink, taking orders, and Eric felt just as enthralled watching him do all that, as he was sure the diners felt listening to him play.

Their eyes had met a few times accidentally, and in the afternoon heat, Eric was unsure if that spark he felt was imaginary or not.

When he finally talked to the waiter, perhaps he'd find out.

He'd been inside the café before, to get a bottle of water or a slice of cake, but it's strange what emptiness does to a room. The lights were switched off and unnecessary, the tall bay windows welcoming the early evening sun that smeared the wax floors, almost pastel in its dull glow. Chair legs rose from the tables like spikes, and the room appeared bigger. Fit for dancing.

Eric smiled to himself, the echoing of his feet did nothing to perhaps quicken his lackadaisical pace. It didn't matter, nobody else seemed to notice. Especially not the waiter, wiping down the counter. Beautiful and strange enough to fit the abandoned café's décor.

"Hi," The word fell from Eric's mouth, he cursed himself.

"Oh," the waiter looked up and their eyes met again. "Hi…"

"S-sorry," Eric was thrown off by the waiter's surprised expression, his tongue was betraying him. "Are you guys closed?"

The waiter looked around, the turned up chairs and lack of customers pretty much answered Eric's question. He flushed and pursed his lips, perhaps he could get out of there before the waiter could come up with a polite answer.

"Well," the waiter said. "We usually do close early on Wednesday, but I could make you a drink?"

"Really?" Eric smiled, wanting to move closer.

"Sure," the waiter shrugged, then added. "Non-alcoholic though,"

Eric nodded as he sat down. "I should really start busking at bars," he joked.

"Maybe," the waiter laughed quietly as he set about making Eric's beverage. "If you want to drink on the job."

Eric smirked when the waiter couldn't see. "Nah, I don't think it do much good to my vocal chords."

The waiter didn't reply, setting a tall, empty glass on the table.

"So what do you want?" he asked. "A coke?"

"Thanks," Eric replied.

The waiter didn't look at Eric as he made him his drink, and Eric distracted himself with the tall, bottle green walls and its Americana decorations.

He heard glass scrape against wood and a bottle of ice cold coke was slid his way. The waiter had gone back to wiping down the counter, and Eric drank around the thick silence. But as the glass emptied, Eric could feel his time running out, the waiter's patience and courteousness dwindling.

"I'm Eric, by the way," Eric blurted out, setting his now empty glass back on the table.

The waiter's smile made colour rush to Eric's cheeks that he couldn't hide. He put down the flimsy yellow rag, walked over to Eric and leant over the bar to shake his hand.

Cool, smooth, the handshake was what Eric feared the waiter would be. He wasn't intimidated by confidence, since he had a lot of it himself, but this waiter was something else.

His grip on Eric's hand was firm, but his palm was soft and his fingers were long and slender and Eric imagined sliding his tongue up the length of his index-

 _Even his fucking fingers turn me on._

"Nice to meet you, Eric," the waiter smiled, releasing his hand. "I'm Kyle."

 _Kyle._

Like a puzzle coming together to make the whole, the four corners to Eric's tiny world. K-Y-L-E.

"I finally know your name," Eric murmured with a small grin.

"Right," Kyle chuckled (Kyle, Kyle, perfect). "'Red' was a charming nickname though, but not so original."

Eric shrugged and said in his defence, "I came up with it on the spot…"

Kyle chuckled again, and Eric wondered how many times he could make him laugh on a first date… If Kyle would have him, that is.

"Plus, you're new here," Eric added. "I didn't know your name."

"And you know everybody else's?" Kyle asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Uh…no," Eric admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not exactly."

Kyle laughed again, endearment in his eyes and freckles on the bridge of his nose, Californian sun drops.

"How long have you been working here?" Eric asked.

"Only a couple of weeks," Kyle replied. "Fresh out of college."

"No kidding, me too. Which college?"

"UCLA. I did computer sciences."

Kyle's eyes roamed around the café as soon as the words were out of his mouth, he sighed. "But... I have student loans. And I don't want to put all that on my parents so, waiting tables it is."

"Paying your dues," Eric nodded. "I know all about that."

"Yeah, I guess you would," Kyle said, he smirked. "You're a struggling musician, right?"

A sore spot admittedly and Eric did prickle, but there was something in Kyle's smirk that made him want to tease right back.

"You seem pretty cocky with that assumption," Eric retorted.

"It's a good bet," Kyle said. "We're in L.A. the place is crawling with musicians… And actors. You have a guitar, a good voice-"

"You really think so?"

"Oh come on, you know so!" Kyle said incredulously. "Otherwise you wouldn't be singing for tips in public! I'm not gonna stroke your ego."

 _There are plenty of other things I'd rather you stroke before my ego._

"But it is wrong to make assumptions, so I'll ask," Kyle said. "What exactly are you doing here?"

Eric sighed. "I'm in L.A. because I want to be a rock star. I've had a plan in place since I was five, and it was all going smoothly until I graduated Berklee and came here-"

"You went to Berklee?"

"Yeah?"

"I would kill to go to a college on the east coast!"

"You don't like California?"

"I resent it," Kyle explained. "You always resent where you come from a little, right? You always want to be somewhere completely different. Like, where do you come from?"

Eric rolled his eyes and smiled sheepishly.

"If I tell you, you can't laugh,"

"I'll try not to," Kyle put a hand to his chest in a light-hearted vow.

"Okay," Eric said, before ushering Kyle closer. "Colorado."

"Really?" Kyle smiled. "Where in Colorado? Denver?"

"Because that's the only place you know in Colorado?"

Kyle shrugged.

"No, I grew up in South Park," Eric said.

"I've never heard of it."

"Yeah, you wouldn't have," Eric said, that was kind of the point. "It's a redneck, Podunk mountain town-"

"Oh my God!" Kyle exclaimed, laughter crinkling his words. "You're a redneck! A redneck country mouse!"

"Hey!" Eric bristled. "I'm not a redneck, okay? There you go with your assumptions!"

Kyle was still laughing into the back of his hand before he said, "okay, I'll stop making those. But you understand where I'm coming from, right? An ambitious guy like you surely wanted to get out of the mountains? Not much of an entertainment industry there, I'll bet?"

"Correct," Eric agreed. "And yeah, I wanted to get out but… I do miss it, sometimes. Don't you miss where you came from? Town mouse?"

"No, I hated San Francisco," Kyle replied. "I never fitted in. All my neighbours were smug douchebags and their kids were tripping balls every day so you couldn't have an actual conversation with them."

"Did you just say 'tripping balls' to me?" Eric laughed. "You're a UCLA graduate!"

"Aha, by day…"

"And what are you by night?"

"Very tired,"

"And looking to blow off some steam?" Eric teased.

Kyle shot him a deadpan look. "Not with you, cowboy."

Eric scoffed. "I'll have you know I've had guys falling over their own feet to have a drink with me."

"But as you've seen before, I'm not buying into your charm…"

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Eric asked, half of it was a serious inquiry.

"I was busy!" Kyle answered. "I told you I wasn't in the mood-"

"What about that other time?" Eric continued. "You stayed until the end of the song, so you clearly enjoyed my performance, but you went back inside!"

"And what was I supposed to do?" Kyle laughed, a little indignant. "Walk over and start making out with you?"

"No, it's just… You don't understand how much power this holds," Eric said, picking up the guitar that was resting by his feet. "It's worked wonders in the past and yet somehow you're immune to it."

Kyle's eyes raked over the polished wood and the fine strings before he gently nudged the guitar away, the threshold between him and Eric demolished.

"Or maybe I want to make you work?" Kyle suggested, eyes lidded, pupils blotting out the green.

Eric's palms stung with sweat, his heart jumping beneath his shirt and there was a hot _(so fucking hot_ ) itch, which needed to be scratched immediately.

Eric swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"That has crossed my mind," Eric replied, voice thick and humid.

A twitch of Kyle's mouth revealed a perfect white incisor, and the taste of the fruity gum he'd been chewing was closing in on Eric.

And Eric gave in, closing his eyes like a runner collapsing to his knees after a marathon. A pursuit.

But lips didn't touch, noses instead bumped together as Kyle ducked his head away from Eric's mouth.

"I need to lock up soon but I'll make you another drink," Kyle said softly, noses still touching. Eyes met, green startling in such close proximity. "If you want,"

Eric backed away and nodded, remnants of Kyle's fruity breath still teasing his nose.

* * *

Another coke and an awkward goodbye, the anti-climax to a stunning near-kiss. But anti-climax or not, kiss swiftly dodged, Eric felt like he was floating all the way home and all he thought of was Kyle.

Kyle, and his wry chuckle, his bitter sweetness, his freckles and slender fingers. Eric replayed their conversation, their silence, the moment their lips almost touched until he was humming the song that entered his head when Kyle's mouth was nearing his.

If emptiness changes a room, then optimism changes the entire world you wake up to. For when Eric woke up the sky was crisper, the weight of the world was lifted and all those clichés in songs - that Eric had sung to death so much that he had stomped out their meaning - were revived and made sense again.

He had met an incredible guy who he was already falling for. Love at first sight wasn't just something to sing about.

When Eric made it to the café, the breakfast crowd had poured in. They clung to their coffee like it was a bouy in the moody, morning sea. Waiters dropped their polite, professional act when the diners' backs were turned, yawning and frowning and in need of some caffeine themselves.

Eric saw Kyle, a vibrant splash of colour urging the day to wake up. Kyle smiled sleepily and Eric shot him a lazy grin of his own, butterflies conspiring in his stomach.

Eric played the usuals; _Riptide, Sweet Caroline…_ He even threw in a _San Francisco Bay Blues_ , just to see Kyle's reaction. When Eric looked up, Kyle rolled his eyes at him and continued serving breakfast.

A few dollars and several glances at Kyle later, Eric decided it was time for his most crucial serenade.

"This next song," Eric paused to take a sip of his water, just in case his throat failed him. "Is dedicated to Kyle, who has been waiting on those two tables right there," Eric pointed to the tables and the customers applauded, eyes turning to Kyle whose surprised gaze was fixed on Eric.

"He's only been in my life a matter of days, and we're still kind of strangers, and yet… He's already captured me, and infuriated me and endeared himself to me. Now, that is an incredible guy. And, I could just ask him out, but I have a magic guitar," Eric paused and smirked when Kyle laughed and, is he blushing? Eric made him blush? "And he doesn't deserve to _just_ be asked out, he deserves all the wonderful, romantic lyrics there are in the world."

Kyle's mouth dropped open before pulling itself into a radiant smile, he ran his hand through his curls.

"So on that note," Eric said, suddenly aware that it wasn't just the two of them. "Here's _Fools Rush In_ by Bow Wow Wow…"

A couple of soft, encouraging cheers and Eric smiled. Were the strings always this slippery? Taking a deep breath, he began.

" _Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread, and so I come to you, my love, my heart above my head…"_

Eric didn't look at Kyle for the rest of the song, if he did, his fingers would slide off the strings and his voice would tremble and his heart would burst. Out of fear or adoration or complete happiness he wasn't sure, what he was sure of was that there was too much emotion and energy involved in serenading someone you could really be falling for.

The song was short and easy, but Eric's lungs were burning by the end of it and every breath was effort. His pounding heart wasn't exactly helping matters. Applause, which had once kept Eric afloat, was now a distant lighthouse glow. Inconsequential and a small comfort. Kyle's reaction, his distaste or satisfaction, his smile or his frown, was what counted.

Eric dared look up, out of fear his heart would turn to stone. Or maybe swell in glorious relief.

Taking that leap, he looked up and Kyle was gone. Stone, ice, magma, whatever it was, Eric felt something in his chest deflate. But he was too stubborn to cry or leave, although for the first time in his life the instinct to give up felt okay.

"Alright," Eric's voice wavered on the word but the diners didn't notice. All they wanted was to eat their meal and maybe enjoy some music. "This next-"

"Eric, wait!" Kyle called out, and Eric's heart sprinted as Kyle made his way over to him. What was he holding?

"Hi," Kyle smiled breathlessly, cheeks still tinged an unflattering pink.

"Hi," Eric chuckled, he couldn't get a handle on himself. "What-"

"It's a bearclaw," Kyle said, handing Eric the pastry wrapped in a napkin. "Thanks for the song, it was lovely. No guy… No guy has ever done that for me before. It was really nice."

"Magic guitar," Eric grinned, gesturing to old reliable slung around his neck.

Kyle rolled his eyes and chuckled, before walking away.

Eric's gaze trailed after him, it wasn't the response he was looking for… But it was progress.

"Look inside the napkin," Kyle called from a table whose coffee mugs needed to be cleared.

Eric pulled the napkin away from the pastry and studied it. Plain, white, with the café's logo stamped on it… And a phone number.


End file.
